


Super Size Me

by Anonymous



Series: starkerforlife6969 [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Bottom Peter, Daddy Kink, Everybody loves Peter Parker, Fluff, Happy Ending, Iron Man - Freeform, Ironspider - Freeform, Jealous Tony, M/M, Mr stark, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overstimulation, Possessive Tony, Praise Kink, Protective Tony, Smut, Starker, Sugar Baby Peter, Superheroes, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Top Tony, adoring peter parker, and a dick, but peter only wants tony, everybody wants peter, everyone who looks at peter to a bloody pulp, if tony could stop beating, maybe peter could tell him that, rich tony, spiderman - Freeform, sugar daddy tony, that's huge, tony spoiling peter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-29 20:45:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17210639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Tony is beginning to have...inappropriate feelings towards his new spiderling.





	1. Tony Makes Peter Breakfast

"That was so cool, Mr Stark," Peter gushes enthusiastically, as the two of them step out of the elevator into the penthouse at the top of Star Tower. Tony nods, machinery already reaching out of the walls to carefully dissemble his Iron Man get up and retract again; disappearing back into the sleek, modern layout of his home. Peter, meanwhile, tugs off his mask; revealing his mussed hair and bright eyes as he continues on at a mile-a-minute: "I mean, Captain America! And-and did you see that guy with the metal arm? That was  _so cool._ And this suit-" he makes a little yelp of delight as he looks down at himself, and his smile is so blinding that Tony feels warmth curl in his heart. "-This suit is amazing, no, no it's perfect! It's better than perfect, it's the best suit in the whole world, Mr Stark." 

Christ. And that suit isn't even the metal-embellished one he has hidden away. He can hardly imagine the kid's face when he's finally earned that one. The way they'll match; side by side. He pours himself some scotch and watches as Peter continues to pace; still radiating energy even after their big battle. Tony, on the other hand, aches. He's tired and he wants to go to bed but there's something catching about the kid's enthusiasm. About his bright eyed and adoring puppy-dog face. "You did good, kid," he says, nodding approvingly, and wants to laugh at the way Peter nearly trips over his feet as he spins around so quickly. 

"Really?" He asks, voice high-pitched and flushed pink with the praise as he lights up. "Thank you, Mr Stark! I mean, I just wanted to do a good job, to-to-impress you, you know?" 

Tony likes that a lot. But he doesn't think it would take much for Peter to impress him. He'd been impressed the second he'd seen the video of the kid, even more impressed when he'd found out that he was lost in the foster system. It had been so easy to just pluck up the fifteen year old and drop him into Tony's life like he belonged there. Maybe Tony was a saint or something in some previous life, because for the boy to have no other family, to have superpowers, to be beautiful, and to have this infatuated adoration with Iron Man was...a little too good to be true. "Get changed, get some rest." He says, shoving his glass into the sink. 

Peter shakes his head effusively, "I'm not tired!" He exclaims in a way that sounds suspiciously like a whine. It makes him seem even younger than the already outrageously young fifteen. Tony tries not to dwell on how much he likes the sound. "Can't I stay up a little bit? Please, Mr Stark?" An idea sparks in his head, obvious from the way his lips tilt up. The kid should never, ever play poker, "can I work in the lab for a while?" The older man's surprised he can't actually  _see_ his tongue lolling out. The boy really is a puppy-dog.  _Down boy,_ he grumbles to his twitching dick, which seems to perk up at the idea of Peter humping his leg. 

Tony resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, but he nods. "Alright. FRIDAY, keep an eye out, will you?" 

_"Yes, Sir."_

"And Pete- get changed, alright? And don't stay up too late." He wrinkles his nose in distaste at what's just come out of his mouth. "I sound like a dad." He grumbles, but Peter just laughs, pressing the front of his suit as he practically skips towards one of the guest bedrooms where he's been set up. The material decompresses and enlarges all around him, slipping off his shoulders and leaving Tony with the most tempting, frustrating view of his cream, leanly muscled back and just the very top of his plump ass, before he's around the corner. Goddamn tease. He grits his teeth and retires to his bed. 

...

...

...

To add to his never-ending list of qualities, the boy is smart as a whip. 

Tony had known it the moment he'd seen the kid's bedroom in the foster home- old computers working much faster than they should have, an outdated phone using non-compatible software- and when the kid was in his lab. It's like watching a young Tony. Albeit, less surly and inwardly-devasted. Tony's always been a bit of a narcissist, so as he watches FRIDAY's footage of Peter in the lab last night over breakfast, he's not surprised by how his blood runs a little hotter at the sight. 

Peter bowed over the table, his fingers nimbly working on restoring some old walkman, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration and his dark hair in his eyes. He almost  _looks_ like he could be Tony's son, which is...problematic and useful at the same time. He's certain a large number of the public think they are father and son, which is a double edged sword really. He tries not to think about it. Instead, he thinks about the sounds Peter might make once he's strung out and lying docile like a good boy, as Tony rams into him again and again and again-

"M'str Stark?" Comes a sleep voice wrapped around a yawn, and Tony shuts down the feed and goes back to eating his cereal with a put on nonchalance that anyone older would be able to see through. Peter, does not. Tony's immediately taken with the sight of him. Plaid pyjama bottoms and a faded tee that says  _Up for some 3.14..._ Academic jokes. Tony approves. The sight of him like this makes him look vulnerable and soft in all the ways that shouldn't get Tony aroused. Peter brings a fist up to rub at his eye looking impossibly young and still a little bleary. He smiles at the sight of Tony though, the same smile he always has: awed, amazed, excited. Tony could get used to it. "Mornin'," 

The older man chuckles and glances at his watch. "It nearly isn't morning, sunshine. Battles tucker you out more than you thought, huh?" 

Peter pouts and it is a very distracting image. 

"But how are you feeling?" He presses, protectiveness surging through him. "You doing alright? That was the major leagues yesterday, Pete, and even though they weren't going one hundred percent, it was still tough." 

He nods, looking as if he's memorising every single word Tony's saying like it's some sort of gospel. "I feel fine, really," he flashes another lopsided smile. "I think I'm just a teenager: tired all the time, y'know?" 

A teenager. Yes. A  _teenager._ There was once a time for barely legal models and sleazy infamy. Now is no longer that time. He finishes his cereal and stands up. "You hungry?" 

Peter's eyes widen and he nods eagerly. "I am always hungry, Mr Stark." He says, a little too seriously to be a joke and hmm, that might have something to do with the Spider bite. Tony will look into it. 

"Go and watch some cartoons or play some video games in the den," he encourages, waving Peter away, "I'll call you when I've got you some breakfast." He half expects Peter to make some joke about cartoons, but evidently, the boy is keen to watch Saturday morning animation, and he disappears. Tony is...well, he's Tony, and it takes very few buttons on his phone and a quick demand to FRIDAY before the kitchen counter is a banquet good enough for Kings. There's freshly squeezed orange juice and fried eggs and hashbrowns. There's a huge bowl of fruit with an assortment of berries and sliced pineapple. There's freshly-buttered croissants and still warm pain-au-chocolat's and and a jug of vibrant prink smoothie. There's toast and pancakes and waffles with sides of chocolate sauce and maple syrup. It fills the kitchen with a sweet, delicious fragrance and even though Tony's already eaten and not too keen on sugar, he finds himself tearing off a piece of pineapple and popping it into his mouth. 

Sure enough, when he gets to the den, Peter's lying on his stomach, head in his hands as he gazes up at- Jesus. Tony takes a second, leaning against the door to stop his ego from exploding.

"Are you seriously watching an Iron Man cartoon?" He asks, a teasing lilt in his voice that doesn't stop Peter from scrambling up with a delicious pink blush. "Lordy, I didn't realise they were still making those." 

"It's so cool!" Peter exclaims, pointing at the television. "I mean- not as cool as the real thing, but look, they have your sonic blasters and everything!" He points to where an animated red and yellow figure is blasting a green villain into the woods. "I've seen all of them." He vows.

Tony snorts. "I didn't realise you were such a fanboy." 

"I really am." Peter continues, unembarrassed of it. "When I was younger, I always wanted an Iron Man tattoo." He pats his shoulder cheerfully. "Right here!" 

Something deep and possessive purrs loudly. Tony tries his best to ignore it. "C'mon, I'll sign your forehead later. Breakfast time. Or lunch, really." He turns on his heel and smirks as Peter's footsteps hurry after him. 

"Will you really?" He chirps excitedly, bounding along. "That would be awesome! Hey, maybe if you wrote your name on my shoulder I could get  _that_ tattooed instead and-woah-" he screeches to a halt as they come into the kitchen; jaw dropping at the sight of the bountiful spread. His eyes don't seem to know where to stop first and he's practically salivating by the time they reach the counter. "Is all this for  _me?"_ He gapes, falling onto one of the stools and Tony grumbles deep and satisfied. 

"Sure is. Eat up." 

And oh boy, does he. He eats like someone's going to take the food away from him, but he also moans sinfully around every mouthful. His eyes roll back into his head and Tony can feel his own mouth water, but it's not for any of the food spread out before him. He sips his black coffee, content to just watch Peter as he reaches for bananas and pancakes and gulps down the OJ like there's no place on earth he'd rather be than right here. It's a wonderful ego trip. He gets maple syrup all down his chin but Tony doesn't tell him. He likes the glossy, dirty, shine of it. He's evil. He's on his way to hell. Tell him something he doesn't know. "There are so fluffy," Peter moans, eyeing the waffle like he's going to do bad things to it. It's the same look Tony gives Peter when the boy's not looking. "Mr Stark, this is...you really didn't have to," he manages around his mouthful. 

He's done a pretty good job of devouring the whole table, but it doesn't stop him from reaching forward and biting into a juicy slice of pineapple. The glint of his white teeth breaking through the vibrant yellow shouldn't be as tempting as it is, but when Peter offers the pineapple out to him- the one he's just taken a bite from- Tony shakes his head. "It's for you, kid. You're skin and bone." 

"Mr Stark," Peter laughs, "please try some of this pineapple! I've eaten so much, please," he hands it out for him, with that ridiculously appealing puppy-dog expression so Tony rolls his eyes, convinces himself he isn't wrapped around the kid's finger, and plucks the pineapple from his grip. 

He eyes Peter's bite mark, and then, because he's Tony Stark, bites from the exact same place. The pineapple is good. A bit sweet for him, but it bursts across his tongue. Across the table, Peter is sucking all the juice and remnants off his fingers and the older man has to clench his jaw and look away because it's one thing to ogle the boy, but it's another to sport a very noticeable erection in front of him. "It's good." He says casually and Peter nods exuberantly. 

"What we are we gonna do today?" Peter asks, and Tony blinks. 

Right. Yes. He has a...teenager, now. Another glance at his watch tells him it's one o'clock, so there's still a lot of the day ahead of him. He frowns. "Well, um...you've probably got homework or something, right? I'm going to be doing some work in the lab, you could...sit at the desk?" That takes up a few hours, surely? After that, he's not sure. What do kids like to do? Do they still like movies? Or has Netflix eradicated that now?

"Cool!" Peter chirps, though Tony has a sneaking suspicion that Peter would approve any idea that came out of his mouth. "After that, I'm gonna try decorating my room, if that's okay?"

Right. He's in the guest bedroom- one of the, no doubt lovely, but very impersonal rooms. He's a teenage boy. All teenagers need their bedrooms to be safe spaces, don't they? Tony remembers turning his own bedroom into a lab when he was a boy. He's a more than a little curious to see how Peter would like his room decorated. It's an intimate, private thing and Tony wants to know everything about the boy. "I'll take you shopping." He says, smiling at Peter's blown expression; his wide eyes and parted lips. 

"Oh, Mr Stark, no- you don't have to-you've already done so much-"

"Hey, kid," Tony shoots him a teasing, warning glare. "I wouldn't have offered."

Peter nods, red growing across his cheeks. "Okay." He whispers shyly, a pleased look on his face. "Okay, I'm gonna...I'm gonna grab a shower and my books. I'll see you in the lab in a sec?"

Tony nods, privately delighted at how clingy the boy is. He'd gotten that vibe the second he'd laid eyes on Peter, but it's nice to have it confirmed. Something that's also nice is the feeling of seeing Peter sated. Of being full, of eating his food. Something very deep and very primal feels a lick of approval at the sight of the boy so happy, so content under his own hand. Tony's done that. Tony's fed his young and cared for him and provided him shelter. There's also something...a little not-nice about it. Something a bit dangerous and dirty with connotations the press would have a field day with. It's the same feeling that comes from the thought of taking Peter shopping. He wants- no, he  _craves_ the look on the boy's face when Tony is going to buy him anything and everything he wants. The glowing eyes, the adoring gasp, the feeble protestations on his lips. Tony craves it. He can get drunk off it. It's what he'll think about late at night as he grips himself in his hand.

Why? He doesn't know yet. 

But he's trying really hard not to figure it out. 

 


	2. Bedrooms, t-shirts, magazines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony designs Pete's bedroom, replaces his Captain America t-shirt and Peter hoards magazines with pictures of Tony.

Peter Parker is a nerd and Tony Stark likes it. 

Academic decathlon, or triathlon, or the mathlete adventures- whatever it is that's got Peter away for the weekend is both amusing and adorable. Tony likes it. He likes that in spite of the fact that Peter post-bite is leanly muscled, athletic and brilliant, he still acts like he did when he was pre-bite. Tony's never met pre-bite Peter, but he can assume. He can assume pre-bite Peter kept his head down and ducked away from fights and flushed bright red whenever someone looked at him. He likes that that hasn't gone away. 

His phone buzzes and he glances down to see a picture of Ned and Peter. It's a selfie and Peter is grinning, a little sweaty, at the camera and he's got his thumb up and he's wearing a school sweatshirt and he's captioned it  _we won the first round!!!!_ followed by a number of increasingly enthusiastic emojis. 

A large part of Tony wishes Peter was here right now so he could show him just how proud he is. Show him the proper way to celebrate a win. As it is, he just saves the screenshot into the secret album on his phone. The one that's collecting an ever-growing number of pictures of the boy. He heads down the hall and smiles to himself as he thinks about what Peter's face will be on Sunday night. They'd gone shopping and Peter had picked out a number of things he'd liked, and then Tony had gone back out later and bought a million other things and since the boy's been away, he's completely redecorated his room. 

And moved it, as well. Before, Peter was in a nondescript guest room, but now Tony's moved him closer to him; so they share a wall. And Peter has a balcony too. It's a stunning room, gorgeous, and undoubtedly bigger than anything Peter has ever experienced. There's a sturdy wooden desk and a desk chair; with the most up to date SI laptop. There's a bookcase full of books that Tony knows Peter likes, plus a number of other ones for school. Also, a large number of books that Tony had devoured as a teenager: books on engineering and science and biophysics. There's a built in wardrobe just crammed full of clothes. The boy had a tiny suitcase of clothing to his name and now...well, Tony may have enjoyed himself more than strictly necessary when it came to buying clothes for the boy. Only things that _he_ liked. He knows Peter is a fan of over-sized hoodies, so there's a number of those. A lot of science-pun t-shirts and jeans and sweaters- things that teenagers wear. New shoes, converse and vans and some dress shoes too. He's yet to buy the boy a tux but he's going to save that. Save that for when he can give Peter a proper fitting. 

His cock twitches at the thought.

The ensuite too, is fully stocked. He's bought a razor though he doesn't think the boy shaves yet. And he's chosen his own personal favourite scent to be the boy's body wash: ocean scents. The sea salt and the distant freshness. Shampoo and conditioner, towels and a comb. He's bought Peter a new backpack and phone and every other possible thing the boy could ever need. New headphones too- and of course, where possible, everything is made by Stark Industries. Even the towels have monogrammed inscriptions of _Tony Stark_ on them because there's something...something bad wrong and glorious about Peter being engulfed in Tony's possessions. Because ultimately, that's what Peter is. He's Tony's prized possession. It's why he gets such a sick thrill whenever Peter's in the spider suit, because every inch of his skin is covered with a material that Tony hand crafted. Every single section of that lovely body is pressed snug within a fabric that Tony laboured over. 

The thought is exhilarating.

The bed is a King, obviously. Enormous and expensive, with the plushest feather mattress he could find and what looks like a hundred pillows and cushions and red silk bedsheets. He runs his fingertips over the cool material and sighs. He wants to see Peter all wrapped up in this bed; sinking into its plushness and completed sated in the luxury that he deserves. Tony likes pretty, expensive things. He has a collection of brilliant, useful and world-changing innovations and Peter is one of them. He smirks at the  _Iron Man_ poster on the wall. That had been one of things Peter had bought, and Tony gets a sense of visceral pleasure at seeing it tacked up above the bed. There's a framed photograph too, of Tony and Peter in Germany in the back of the car that Peter had taken to show his friend MJ. It's on his bedside table and Tony groans at the fact that it'll be the last thing Peter sees before he goes to bed. 

The boy is going to be the death of him. 

The penthouse feels oddly empty without the exuberant pup and Tony tries not to dwell on that as he heads into the lab and tries to get some work done on his suit. He works well for a couple of hours until FRIDAY's voice chimes into the air: 

" _Mr Parker has put on his suit, Master Stark."_ She alerts him. Tony looks up from where he's trying to tighten the aim on his blasters and cocks his head. Huh. Has the kid run into trouble in DC? Or is he just feeling restless and going on patrol in a new city? He wants to call but he doesn't want to hover. He knows the kid would come to him if there was a problem. 

"Let me know if anything goes wrong," he murmurs, trying not to feel too over-protective. He'll admit it, though. There's a large part of him that doesn't like the thought of his boy being out there and putting himself in harms way. Most of the time, that thought is overshadowed with how proud he is that Peter can do all these things, and how he admires and recognises the boy's strength and brilliance. He sees a young Tony Stark. At the same time, though...if anything ever happened...Tony might have a lot of blood on his hands. 

" _Of course, Sir."_

Nothing does happen, and Tony pulls up the picture Peter sent him as he lies in bed. He takes in the beaming smile and the sweat-slicked face and alongside feeling happy that the boy is happy, he also feels...dirty in a very, very good way. 

It gives him the best dreams. 

...

...

...

When Peter comes back on Sunday evening, he chatters non-stop about the event and how they won and how even some douchebag called Flash had been impressed. Tony nods, something restless inside him settling at having Peter back when he belongs. Peter's reaction is even better than Tony had expected and when he sees his new room. His jaw drops. He looks around, taking in everything reverently before Tony's being engulfed in a hug. Peter's ridiculously strong so the hug stings a little bit, but Tony doesn't mind at all. He ruffles the kid's hair and encourages him to enjoy it. "You like it, then?" He teases as Peter gapes. 

"Like it? Mr Stark, it's- it's  _amazing!_ I can't even..." he shakes his head, babbling in amazement. They spend a while going through all the special features that Tony's included. Everything's voice activated and there's a projecting television and all the lights and the balcony doors work according to Peter's demand. 

They spend the evening on the couch in the sunken living room; eating pizza and watching movies. Tony doesn't really have much patience for movies, so he keeps his laptop on his knees and reviews a few company contracts while Peter moans distractingly over the cheese in the crust and sings along to Disney songs. Tony sits on the couch with his legs propped up on the glass coffee table and Peter sits on the floor between the table and the couch; his back resting along the cushions and near Tony's knee. There's something domestic about it, and something...else. Tony likes the idea of Peter at his feet and Peter certainly seems comfortable there. Tony's hand is close enough to his neck to stroke along it, but instead, he ruffles his hair every so often and tries not to think about the way Peter arches into the touch like he's starved for it. 

"I'm gonna get ready for bed," Peter says around a yawn, and Tony's surprised to see that it's past midnight when he looks at the clock.

"Don't you have school tomorrow?" He asks worriedly, because even though Peter doesn't need as much sleep as he used to, he doesn't like the thought of having to force the boy up.

Peter grins knowingly, "teacher training day," he says cheerfully, getting to his feet and disappearing around the corner. Tony watches the credits of whatever disney film was playing and finishes a letter to Pepper about the new staff intake. After he's done, he shuffles the pizza boxes towards the kitchen and contemplates asking FRIDAY to bring up the feed of Peter showering for...scientific reasons, because it's been a while and who knows? Maybe the boy is engaging in some post-shower pleasure, when he hears Peter come skipping down the hall. He looks up amusedly only for his expression to become strained at the sight of a damp, shirtless Peter Parker in nothing but some low hanging pyjama pants and  _jesus_ is the skin really as soft as it looks? Tony wants to bite it. Wants to taste it. 

"Mr Stark, I can't find my Captain America pyjama shirt? Did you see it?" He asks. 

Tony pretends to look around contemplatively. The truth is, of course, that the shirt is gone and shan't ever be returned. When he was sorting out Peter's small stash of clothing, he'd found the well-worn Captain America tee and had barely managed to contain his fury. Venom had flooded into his mouth and he'd swallowed it away, bile washing down his throat. He'd ripped it up and then tossed it into the fireplace. "Didn't see it, Petey, sorry," he apologises. Dimly, he knows that Peter adores all the avengers. He also knows that he's his favourite. But while a shirt of Thor or Hulk may infuriate him, it wouldn't destroy him the way the sight of Steve's stupid face had. 

Steve's taken a lot from him. His time, his energy, his trust- he won't ever get to lay his hands anywhere near Peter. "It's okay," Peter says, ever apologetic even when it's not his fault. "You've got me so much, it's just a habit thing-"

"Well, hey, here," Tony consoles, trying to act casual as he heads over to a cabinet in the living room. He pops it open and pulls out a large Iron Man t-shirt. It's specially designed and one of a kind; plush red material and a decal of the Iron Man mask in high def graphics, along side the scrawled  _Tony Stark_ in black embroidered letters. "I have a couple of Iron Man t-shirts if you need something to sleep in." He tosses it over, and Peter catches it with his lightning quick reflexes. 

"Woah!" He exclaims, already tugging it on. It's loose on him, comes down to a little past his hips and Tony bites back the urge to say  _do you really need to wear pants with that?_ Instead, he lets his gaze linger on Peter's pale, exposed collar and laments the lack of hickies. "Wow, this is so cool! And it's so soft!" 

"About that," Tony nods, reminded, "you've got silk bedsheets because of your enhancements. Remember how you said you had trouble sleeping? You're a lot more aware of material now. It might irritate you, so the silk should provide the smoothest surface. You'll sleep easier. A lot of the clothes in your wardrobe are likewise of the highest thread count." 

Peter's awe-struck eyes turn even more chestnut brown and adoring. "Mr Stark..." he breathes, like a caress, as a pink rose flushes across his cheeks, "you're so...you're so amazing..." 

It's a heart warming moment, and Tony smiles; jokingly but also deadly serious: "I'm your favourite Avenger, right?" 

Peter laughs, but nods, "always and forever." He vows in a tone of voice that Tony will remember forever. "And I am definitely a lot more sensitive lately- just this weekend MJ whispered something into my ear and I swear my whole body just exploded in goosebumps." 

Tony is suddenly tormented with an onslaught of images. He wants to whisper into the boy's ear, he wants to scrape his fingernails lightly over his nipples and see if he could cum just from that. He wants to know how long Peter lasts because surely even the slightest bit of stimulation would be enough to have him getting his underwear all wet. He has to dig his nails into his palm to stop from grabbing the boy by the scruff and dragging his beard down his neck. He wants to hear the sounds he makes. "I'm not surprised," he manages, a little hoarsely. "You said everything was dialled up to eleven. And your metabolism- it's increased a lot. You'll need a much higher intake. I'm going to bring in Banner to help devise a dietary plan for you." 

"Bruce Banner?" Peter exclaims, bouncing on his feet. "Oh wow, I've read like everything he's ever published!" 

Tony tries not to feel a little insulted. 

But then, trust Peter, trust Peter  _always_ to make everything better. "Oh, actually, that reminds me, Mr Stark! I used to have this box of um..." he goes a much darker red and Tony cocks a curious eyebrow, "of um...magazines?" 

Magazines? What teenager with any modicum of awareness is still using magazines as their primary source of porn? How quaint. He opens his mouth to make a quip designed to tease but also make Peter more comfortable, when Peter continues: 

"I've just- I've been collecting them since I was a kid. I have all of them, even the 2011 issue. It's my favourite one, actually." 

What the hell is he- oh.  _Oh._ Oh  _god._ Tony's desire for the kid ratchets up higher than he thought was even possible. He's not talking about sleazy pornos. He's talking about SI magazines. He's talking about the annual SI issue with Tony on the front and oh for the love of god is it too much to think that the boy touches himself while looking at them? He does in Tony's head. "I thought they were Happy's," he confesses, "and that they got mixed up. I had 'em moved down to storage. I'll get them back for you tomorrow, kid. Sorry." 

Peter's still the most delicious pink colour and Tony can't help himself from walking over and placing a hand on his shoulder. Well, a little higher than his shoulder. Closer to his nape so his thumb is on that sinfully soft skin right near his neck. 

"Don't be embarrassed, kid. You're a fanboy, I know that. You just like the tech stories, hm?" 

Peter ducks his head, shivering all over and sure enough, there are goosebumps near where Tony's thumb is touching his skin. "Y-yeah," he stammers, his voice hitching, "just-just for the tech stuff." 

Poor, sweet, beautiful boy. He's all  _his._ Tony reluctantly pulls his hand away and nods. "Bed." He orders, "I want you to get a good night's rest." 

Peter salutes him cheerfully, scurrying away and Tony takes a cooling breath. 

He's going to pull the feed up to Peter bedroom tonight and he hopes to god the boy touches himself. 

If he doesn't, Tony's going to have to dream about the noises he makes and he just doesn't think his subconscious will do him justice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments are fantastic, keep them up.


	3. Tony gets Peter new Underwear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then watches him masturbate...twice?

Tony is hovering like a protective parent and jealous lover all at once as he watches Bruce examine Peter in the lab. 

His boy is seated on the metal table, still clad in his Iron Man pyjama shirt and plaid pants, his legs swinging as he babbles excitedly to Bruce about his latest work on nuclear fusion. Bruce had arched a mostly amused, partly curious, eyebrow at Peter's choice of wardrobe, but then become quickly distracted by the boy's chatter. Tony can see the way he's softening to him. Bruce can be weird around kids. But he's warming to Peter a little too quickly for Tony's liking. 

He knows he's being ridiculous, but what can he do? He's a possessive bastard and if Peter should be staring moon-struck at anyone, it should be Tony. 

"And just- the way you're theorising the magnetism of particles in an area of zero gravity is just...it's  _revolutionary,_ Dr Banner. I'm- wow, I'm a big fan." Peter says effusively, for what has to be the sixth time. Six times too many, in Tony's opinion. Not that anyone's listening to him. Bruce shuffles his glasses up his nose shyly, and ducks his head as he pulls the tube out from Peter's arm and collects the final blood sample. 

He sets it down in a vial before bringing up the dietary plan on one of Tony's holographic screens. It shimmers a vibrant blue in the air. Tony starts scrutinising it immediately. Peter needs a calorific intake of 4000 calories a day- minimum. Tony's going to have to keep the fridge better stocked. He already knows that Peter keeps a hoard of infuriatingly phallic-shaped candy on-hand at all times. It's been enough to make Tony leave the room on more than one occasion. But he wants the kid to be healthy- he'll invest in some protein bars; they pack heavy. "Thanks, Peter," Bruce chuckles, still bashful. "But please, call me Bruce. It's amazing that you're reading and understanding my articles at your age, but I mean..." he looks over at Tony, "you're a Stark. I remember reading that your dad made his first circuit board as a teenager." 

Tony winks at him. "Yeah, we can see why you'd think he's a Stark, but he isn't." 

"The press have it wrong," Peter chimes dutifully and Bruce stares between them in disbelief. 

"Wait- wait- so he's actually  _not_ your biological son? But-" he looks between them again, and Tony knows what he's seeing. The likeness is remarkable. 

"I know, I know." Tony drawls, waving his fingers to flick through the diet plan. "Brown hair, brown eyes, absurdly handsome, smart as a whip, I can see why you'd be confused." He throws a fond glance at Peter who flushes prettily at the praise and the comparison. "But no, the Spiderling is not actually mine."  _He absolutely is mine_ a deep part of Tony growls. Just not in the way Bruce thinks. 

"That's incredible," Bruce breathes, before taking a breath and walking them through Peter's new biology and how his digestive system works. After he's done, Tony feels better prepared and Peter seems blown away by how much his body has changed, but any fear he may be having is squashed by that insatiable curiosity and thirst for knowledge he has for anything science-related. "Okay, Peter, I think that's everything. Before I go though, I notice you've been squirming a little. Are your muscles aching? Any pain you forgot to mention?" Bruce asks. He has a very calming bedside manner but Tony is not calm. He is instantly on high alert: his eyes raking over every inch of Peter (not a chore at all) and trying to categorise and look for something he missed. 

The thought of Bruce seeing something he hasn't, is grating. 

Peter flushes a little; shyly. "Well, actually," he looks up to meet Tony's eyes. "Mr Stark and I were just talking about it yesterday- I'm a lot more-" he swallows thickly, clearly nervous and embarrassed, "sensitive now, and Mr Stark-he's given me so much to help, but my underwear, I can- I can just feel every thing and that can make it uncomfortable sometimes." He's a bright shade of red now and Tony would find it endearing if he wasn't too busy already whipping out his phone and looking up the best (tightest) silk underwear he can find. "It's fine," he hurries to add, "I'm fine, really-"

"How does your webbing feel against your skin?" Bruce asks interestedly. 

"Uh- g-good." Peter mumbles, eyes on the ground as his voice hitches. Tony looks up curiously, to see a different kind of pink on Peter's cheeks. This isn't self-conscious shame, this is...adolescent secret desire shame.

Oh, Tony needs to start looking at the kid's bedroom feed. What _is_ he doing with his webbing? What a wonderful, perfect, naughty little boy.

Peter practically leaps off the table when his SI phone starts ringing ( _You can stand under my um-brella, you can stand under my um-brella, ella, ella_ the ringtone chirps) and he answers it with a sheepish but relieved grin. "Hey, MJ! No, I can chat! One sec," he pulls the phone away from his face to wave at Bruce. "It was nice meeting you, Dr B- I mean, Bruce! Thanks for all the help!" Before he bounds out of the room.

Bruce watches him go bemusedly, before pulling off his glasses to wipe at the lenses. There's a peaceful silence between them for a moment, as Tony emails his PA a copy of the newly updated shopping list, before Bruce speaks, breaking their companionable quiet. "So, you never struck me as a paternal type, Tony," he mentions softly. 

Tony smirks. "Why not? I was in dire need of a protege. And I'm very influential. I make the perfect mentor." 

"Hm." Bruce murmurs, packing his test tubes back into the plush lining of his case. "A mentor-mentee relationship, then?" 

The taller man narrows his eyebrows and wanders over, prodding Bruce with his phone. The casual lilt in Bruce's voice is put on. The fucker thinks he knows something. "You have something to say?" He asks, eyes scanning Bruce's neck for any flashes of green. 

Bruce bats him away harmlessly and rolls his eyes. "I'm not about to judge you, Tony. Just...be careful, alright." He gives Tony a look. "The boy clearly worships you. Don't take advantage of that." 

Tony tries not to preen. The boy  _does_ adore him. Those big brown eyes, the awe and the excitement and the sheer disbelieving gratitude whenever he's in Tony's presence. It alleviates some of the jealousy he was feeling at witnessing Peter's awe turned on someone else for the last hour. Tony shrugs, patting Bruce on the arm. "You don't need to worry. It's all very platonic." 

He's not sure he totally believes it. The way Peter looks at him sometimes, the way he definitely looks at Peter. The things he thinks about doing to Peter, all day long non-stop, those aren't platonic. But nothing's ever happened so he says it with enough sincerity that Bruce seems to buy it. "Well, alright," he agrees cautiously, "have you talked to St-"

"And it looks like our time is up, Doc," Tony cuts him off with a winning smile, shuffling him out the door. "We need to catch up soon. I want Peter to have monthly check-ups, and me and you- you should come by SI's bio-tech division sometime soon. That is- if you're looking to be employed again? Want something to give you some purpose?" 

The distraction works wonders, and Bruce nods. "Not yet, but I'm thinking about it. I want to make sure I'm ready." 

"You do that." Tony instructs, waving goodbye before the silver doors slide shut and he's left by himself. 

...

...

...

Tony isn't expecting his heart to stop when he walks into the living room a few days later. 

It's a Saturday morning and he walks out looking for some breakfast only to stop short at the sight that greets him. It's Peter, because of course it is. He's lying on his stomach on the plush fur rug in the sunken living room, his books all splayed out before him and a pencil in his mouth that he chews on thoughtfully between scribbling down answers. Now, that as a sight is not completely surprising. It's lovely and distracting, but it's not quite enough to make his heart stuff. What Peter's wearing is enough. Practically all of his clothes have been bought by Tony, and Tony is a possessive bastard that's been established, but he hadn't realised just how...how tantalisingly delectable Peter would look. 

The red hooded sweatshirt is oversized, swamping Peter's frame and making him look even tinier than usual. It's a deep navy, almost black and it makes his skin look so pale and creamy. Tony wants to leave a trail of blue, finger-shaped bruises along it. The sweatshirt has written, in white writing across the front  _Property of Tony Stark_ and-and-

His brain is starting to get fried. _Jesus yes._ This image is what he's going to be thinking about the next time he touches himself, which is going to have be tonight because really. Because what Peter has on with it is- it's the silk underwear Tony had brought him. The black boxer briefs are skin tight- a little too snug, a little  _too_ tempting; they give the most delicious view of the perfect swell of Peter's ass. Tony bets, he just bets that if Peter stood up he'd get to see that perfect little cock pressed against the sheer material. His eyes linger on those long, wonderfully feminine legs that he knows are much, much stronger than they look. The boy is lithe. Tony wants him wrapped around him. 

His heart stops for a moment, before it starts beating again and he swallows down his desire. Peter looks up, an earbud falling out of his ear as he smiles. "Morning, Mr Stark," he beams, before returning to his work. 

Okay. Alright. So, he's not doing it on purpose. That doesn't surprise Tony. The boy can be so naive sometimes, it's like living with a real life bambi. He used to walk around in just his boxer-shorts so he guesses it makes sense that he doesn't see the difference. Tony sure does though. He wonders if maybe he could buy an even scantier set of briefs; wonders if maybe Peter would walk around in just those and an Iron Man t-shirt. For all that Peter can be shy and adorable, he's not really body conscious. It's probably because he doesn't think he's being seen in a sexual way, and not to mention the fact that he's a good looking boy that has to suffer through gym showers. He may be shy, but he's certainly not ashamed. 

Nor should he be. 

Tony clears his throat, heading into the kitchen. "You eaten breakfast, Pete?" 

Peter nods, cheeks hollowed around the pencil in his mouth and Tony has to look away because even though an orgasm before breakfast  _sounds_ like a nice idea, it's just not practical. "Yeah, but I can eat again!" He giggles, getting up and heading to the kitchen. 

Tony tries not to look. Really, he does. But he's not a Saint. And  _lordy._ He's going to have to try and buy some tinier briefs because if there's even a chance Peter might wear them about, it needs to happen. The silk boxer-briefs hug and cup his cock so snugly that Tony's happy he bought a smaller size. It looks like the perfect little handful and all Tony wants in the whole world is to cup it in his palm and feel Peter writhe against him. 

The boy is sensitive, right? 

Really sensitive. 

Well now, it's hardly fair that Tony has to be so thoroughly tempted all the time. And even Bruce thinks that Peter worships him, and Tony is not imagining the weight of the boy's stare. 

He's a scientist at heart, not really, but a little. He certainly likes experimenting, so before he's even fully formed a plan, he's walking around the counter and beckoning Peter closer. "C'mhere, Peter." He orders, and because the boy is a dream come true, he comes over to the decided spot obediently and unquestioningly. This close, the height difference is sinful and Peter has to crane his neck back to look up at Tony and the power rush is a trip altogether. "Let's get serious for a second, huh," he begins, talking out of his ass and Peter's eyes widen and he stares up at Tony like he's ready to pledge his life for him. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay. You've been living here a few weeks, and I feel like we've gelled, but you have to tell me? Are you doing alright?" 

Peter nods earnestly, lips parted with reverence. "Mr Stark, it's- everything's perfect, you're amazing, it's amazing, everything is- just wow, seriously! This is the best and-"

As much as Tony likes Peter's babbling, he can't help himself from curling his fingers around Peter's neck; a firm steady grip around the back of his head and Peter's words trail off into a hiccup. God, he's  _so_ obedient. And his skin is so soft and this feels right. Tony having his hand clamped down on his neck like an ownership, like a brand, it feels right. He strokes his thumb up into Peter's hair and the boy shivers so hard Tony's surprised he doesn't fall over. "I'm glad, Peter," he murmurs, "but you know that if you ever had any issues, you could talk to me, don't you?" 

This is perfectly innocent. If someone walked in now, it would just look like a father and son having an emotionally supportive talk. "I know, Mr Stark," Peter whispers, a lovely red creeping along his cheeks. "I trust you more than anyone." 

He's so sweet. So sweet and so sexy and Tony smiles, going for broke, as he uses his grip to tug Peter forward and press a kiss on his temple. It's toeing the line, but it's not crossing it, and his scruff scrapes along Peter's cheek and he blows down into his ear and before he knows it Peter is a few feet away from him. 

Right. Spider-speed. Tony arches an eyebrow, because he hasn't done anything inappropriate, before Peter stammers out: "Sorry! I-I just have to use the bathroom!" And then he's gone. 

But not before Tony can see the very, very, very lovely outline of his very erect cock straining against its silk confinements. 

"FRIDAY, bathroom feed," he orders, voice hoarse, as the feed appears in front of him just in time for him to see Peter burst into the bathroom, close the door and lean against it. He doesn't even have to pull himself out, he just palms himself through his under wear (Tony refuses to be jealous of Peter's right hand), tossing his head back against the door and crying out. "Jesus," Tony whispers, not daring to blink lest he miss a second of it. He's got the loveliest view from the ceiling, so he can see Peter's face; eyes shut and flushed with desire, and see his white hand against the black underwear, can see  _Property of Tony Stark_ and this certainly answers the question of how sensitive Peter is. Very. He's very fucking sensitive. The information is going to torment him and he watches; enraptured as Peter cums with a mewling cry. 

He lasted about thirty seconds in total. 

And what a lovely, delicious mess he's made in his underwear. 

Tony shuts down the feed and races to the bathroom, mindful of his own erection which is pressing rather angrily against the zipper of his jeans, because the thought of Peter having to sit and eat in the sticky remnants of his orgasm is all he wants. When Peter opens the door, he stumbles, staring at Tony with wide eyes but the older man just smiles; going for concerned. "Everything okay, Pete?"

Peter nods jerkily. There's a beautiful, dark stain on the front of his briefs but it's practically impossible to see against the material unless you're looking for it. "I'm fine, Mr Stark." He smiles, trying to be reassuring. 

He nods. "Good, come on then, breakfast." He tips his head towards the kitchen. 

Peter pauses. "Um, maybe I should grab a shower first, get changed you know-"

Tony laughs, ruffling his hair, "relax, it's the weekend. Breakfast first." 

It's obvious Peter is looking for a way out, but he doesn't find one, and Tony gets to eat the best breakfast of his life while watching Peter twitch and shift on the kitchen stool. Tony makes sure to ask him if he's alright a few more times, and each time Peter blushes and nods and all Tony wants is that lovely skin under his hand again. 

After breakfast, before Peter can escape for a shower, Tony makes sure to drag his fingertips over the back of his neck and the way Peter arches into the touch and blossoms scarlet all over is positively sinful. 

Tony grabs a shower too, and it isn't long before he splatters his release against the wall, the sight of Peter cumming in his underwear flashing before his eyes. 

Unfortunately, now that he's had just the littlest sneak peak, he can't stop. After a day of very wholesome, platonic father-son appropriate activities, which include working on the web shooters, watching movies, and doing work, he finds himself lying in bed and bringing up the feed of Peter's room. They share a wall now and there's something totally brilliantly perverse in knowing that Peter is just on the other side. 

Doing some very, very dirty things. 

Tony's ruined for porn. He watches, amazed and slightly disbelieving, as Peter sets everything up on his bed. Tony's not sure what for at first, but it all starts coming together. Peter's naked, deliciously, beautifully naked. He's all lean and pale and gorgeous. He props up a few pillows on his made bed (he always makes his bed. He's such a stunning juxtaposition of dirty little boy and precious little angel) and then opens a box of the SI magazines that have Tony on the front. The older man sits up in bed, watching more closely through the feed as Peter picks out a few magazines easily; his favourites, no doubt (from what Tony can see from the cover photo, the boy has good taste and seems to have a kink for Tony in a suit- any kind of suit, both metal and tux) and splays them in front of the pillows. He then takes out his web shooters and oh shit-

He sends a ricochet web into the wall, spins around with his hands behind his back and the web bounces back to hit his wrists. 

His hands are bound behind him now and shit,  _shit_ the move was so practised, so graceful and Tony can feel his jaw drop. Peter does a little victory dance, so cluelessly adorable, before he gets on the bed, straddling the pillows and immediately starts rubbing up against it; grinding down and stroking his little cock against the silk pillows. No preamble, no teasing, god the boy is deliciously inexperienced. His eyes are fixed on the magazine covers, his teeth stuck in his bottom lip as he works his hips and jesus,  _jesus._

"Mr Stark," Peter whispers, his cock already hard and leaking, and Tony rests his head against the wall and imagines he's hearing him for a real. Not through the feed, but for real. "I'm a good boy," Peter pants, arms straining against their bonds, "your good boy, I-I-"

He cums with a cry and Tony cums too; in his pants like a teenager, amazed and breathless and awed. "Such a good boy," he agrees with a croak. 

He watches, his dick still twitching, as Peter cuts through the webbing and sorts everything away and  _god._ Bondage, adoration, over-sensitivity, a praise kink and obedience to match. 

He was a fucking  _saint_ in a previous life to deserve this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All i can think about is Tony jerking Peter off under the table at a really fancy restaurant and people pass by that Tony knows and he greets them and they ask how his protege is because he's looking a little flushed, but all Peter can do is stammer out a hello while Tony jerks him harder and faster before he's spilling out into his fist.
> 
> Peter's humiliated and so turned on and thoroughly sated but Tony doesn't let him tuck his dick away, just lets it sit against his thigh, peaking out through the zipper of his expensive pants under the table for the rest of dinner because tony likes knowing that whenever he likes, he can just grab Peter's little dick and play with it. 
> 
> Peter's a babbling, incoherent mess by the end of the night. 
> 
> also your comments are darling, and i love you


	4. Tony takes the Suit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Peter has a bad dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some somnophilia warnings here people, and as it hasn't been pre-established, I guess that could be dub con? But we all know that Peter wants it ;)

Peter and Tony don't disagree often. 

And that's because Peter  _reveres_ Tony, and Tony only ever looks out for Peter. For their opinions to clash, the situation has to be dire and they both have to be equally passionate about their individual cause. 

This qualifies. 

"I told you," Tony begins, his voice a quiet, angry hiss. It's the first thing he's said the entire journey home. Right after he'd discovered Peter doing exactly what he told him not to do. He steps out of his suit, radiating the fiercest anger as Peter stands in front of him, still in his suit and wringing his mask in his hands. "I told you explicitly not to go after Baynes, and what did you do? Hm? What did you do?" 

Peter looks up at him, tiny but defiant. "I thought I could help-"

"Well, you didn't help." Tony snarls, trying his best to ignore Peter's hard flinch at the cruel words. "Instead, you risked the lives of over a hundred people and you risked your own life. What if I hadn't been there today? Different story, right? Those lives would have been on you, and your life..." he has to look way, he can't even look at Peter as he continues, "it would have been on me. I don't need that kind of guilt in my life. If I tell you to do something, Peter, I expect you to do it-"

"Mr Stark," Peter pleads, stepping forward and shaking his head. "I just wanted to-to make a difference. I wanted to help. I'm ready for more than just the little things, I'm ready to take on bigger stuff-"

"No, you're not!" He yells, "and I don't even have to explain myself to you because I am the grownup and you are a stupid kid." He doesn't exactly regret the words as soon as he says them, but he knows there's more to it than that. Peter means-means so much to him. More than he can even admit to himself. Even the notion, even the idea that Peter might get hurt, god forbid something worse, Tony doesn't know how he'll cope. He isn't sure he will cope. He swallows back the rising tide of emotion and tries his best to remain calm. He tries not to see the little scrapes and cuts along Peter's cheek from where he got a little too close to trouble. He tries not to see his earnest eyes and the little voice inside him that will always be on the kid's side that says  _he was just trying to help. He'd never really go against you._ "It's not working out." He manages, keeping his voice as cool as he can. "I'm gonna need the suit back." 

Peter's lips part in a wordless gasp of pain, and he's shaking his head before he seems to have even processed it. "No, Mr Stark, please-"

"Yeah. Go get changed."

He watches the emotions flit across Peter's ridiculously expressive face. Pain, then acceptance and resignation. "For how long?" He asks, voice barely above a whisper. 

"Forever."

"No! No, Mr Stark, please," his eyes glitter and Tony grits his teeth and looks away. For the right thing to do, this sure feels  _shitty._ "Please, please-no-I-" he hiccups a little, shaking his head. "Please- I'm nothing without this suit-"

"If you're nothing without the suit, then you shouldn't have it." 

Maybe he should be a mentor. Being a mentor's all about giving advice and doing the more responsible thing no matter how it feels, right? He's never been on this end of the stick before. He can't even look at Peter, not when he knows that tears are trailing down his cheeks. He just waves him away and after a moment he hears Peter's footsteps disappearing down the hall. Tony uses the reprieve to lean against the counter and try to control the shaking of his arms; he lets the worry and the fear rush through him. God, how fucking irresponsible could one kid be? If Tony had been even half a second later...he can't even think about it. 

Peter doesn't come back, and Tony needs to distract himself. He spends a while bothering all the staff in the building, trying to hide the still-remaining fear underneath the guise of charm and jokes and by the time he gets back to the penthouse, it's early evening and FRIDAY informs him that the suit's been returned. He heads down into the lab to see it, and it doesn't- it doesn't look  _right_ without Peter. There are rips here and there from where those insanely dangerous weapons had sliced clean through. 

Peter hadn't seemed hurt; mostly superficial but Tony now wonders if maybe he should have had Bruce come in. "FRIDAY, how was Peter? Physically." 

" _Karen detected no severe wounds or any signs of a concussion."_ FRIDAY chimes reassuringly and Tony allows himself a second to relax. It doesn't look right though, seeing the suit without Peter in it. He made the suit  _for Peter,_ back when all he knew about the boy was from grainy youtube videos taken by excited bystanders. It had been perfected after meeting him- more advanced tech because Peter was so obviously capable and yet-and yet- so  _childish._

"Can you believe the gal of that boy?" He snaps, still irritated, slightly exasperated as he stares at the suit. He isn't sure what to do with it. A huge part of him wants to fix it up, but wouldn't that be besides the point? If Peter's never going to get it back, and this suit was only ever going to be for Peter then-

" _Teenage boys can be prone to rash decisions."_ FRIDAY says, almost accusingly and Tony glares at the walls. 

"I know that," he gripes, "obviously, it's just that..." Peter isn't, normally. He's not the typical teenage boy in a lot of ways. He's mature and intelligent and he loves staying in and reading huge encyclopaedias. He remembers being a teenager and he's glad Peter is nothing like he was at that age. Drugs and drinking and doing things are all of a sort of different danger to the kind that Peter put himself in this morning. And Peter had done that for other people, with no regard to his own wellbeing. The kid's too selfless, he has no sense of self preservation and-and Tony buries his face in his hands. He doesn't know what to do. "Bring up Peter's bedroom feed," he murmurs, and FRIDAY obliges without comment. 

Peter's curled into a despondent looking ball on his enormous bed; dressed in sweats and a science tee. His eyes are open, but his heart rate is low. He looks so sad. Tony feels a huge impulse to run into his room, give him back his suit and apologise. 

Luckily, he's a little smarter than that. "He hasn't eaten," he murmurs around a sigh. "All day. He needs food." 

" _Would you like me to alert him?"_

"I don't know." He scrubs his face before groaning. "Remind him to eat some protein bars and then tell him when I've gone to bed. He should feel more comfortable coming out, then." 

" _Yes, Master Stark."_

He goes to bed feeling troubled with guilt. He knows he's done the right thing, he just doesn't think he's done it in the best way. 

...

...

...

He's not a very heavy sleeper. Not like he knows Pete can be. The boy could sleep through a hurricane if he was exhausted enough, but Tony's a lot more alert than that. 

Which is why when a sliver of light creeps over his eyes and he hears the squeak of his door opening, he opens his eyes immediately: tense and ready, only to relax at the sight of Peter standing in the doorway. He looks smaller than ever, hair all sleep-mussed and even from here, Tony can see that his eyes are rimmed red. He's still in the science tee, but his sweats have been taken off and he's just a tempting beauty in his silk black boxer briefs. "M'ster Stark?" He mumbles, voice timid, "are you awake?" 

He sits up a little, nodding and worried. "I'm awake, Pete. Are you okay?" He clears his throat a little. 

Peter takes another step forward, and his voice is so sad it makes Tony's heart break. "I know you're still mad at me, but I-I had a really bad dream about-about-" his voice hitches and he's crying for the second time today and Tony can't handle it. He's patting the bed before he can really think it through and Peter is closing the door and sprinting over like he's scared of the dark, and before Tony knows it, he has an armful of teenager. He rubs Peter's back soothingly, as the boy tucks his face into his neck and Tony rests his chin on that soft hair. 

Peter smells like the ocean. 

"I know, buddy," he whispers, because he doesn't need Peter to say it aloud. He was dreaming of his parents. "Shhh, it's okay. It's alright." He can feel the wetness and those tickling lashes right against his collar and Peter is so soft and warm and delicate against him. "You're okay, everything's okay." 

Peter's crying turns into little hiccups, but he doesn't pull away or look up. Stays small and sheltered in Tony's embrace. "'m sorry," he whispers, "I'm really sorry, I just- I'm  _sorry."_

"None of that now," Tony orders, stroking his fingers through his hair. "I'm not mad at you. Shhh." He keeps murmuring it, because he knows Peter. He knows how completely devastated the boy becomes if he thinks he's let someone down. The sensation is only amplified when that someone is Tony Stark; the figure that Peter stares at with starry eyes. 

Slowly, they migrate from sitting up, to lying down and he lifts the blankets for Peter to cuddle under and Peter tucks a pillow under his head, lying on his side so they're both facing each other. "Thanks, Mr Stark," he whispers, and Tony tries not to be distracted by the sheer beauty of the face in front of him. "I always feel so much safer when you're around." 

"I feel you're safer when I'm around." Tony teases, watching Peter's little smile, before the boy closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep. 

It's all very sweet and paternal and safe, but of course, Tony is a pervert so it doesn't stay that way. He can't sleep. How could he possibly be expected to sleep? When there's a literal sleeping beauty mere centimetres away? As Peter's breathing slows and evens, Tony watches the rise and fall of his chest, admires the curls of those lashes against the cusp of his sharp cheekbones and the pink lips parted with each sweet breath.

He reaches out to card his fingers through that soft hair, letting his touch linger over Peter's cheek and the skin is so soft it's addictive. He tries not to think about Peter's gorgeous ass snug in underwear that _Tony_ bought. The only things that ever touch Peter should be owned by Tony. He looks right. He looks  _good_ here all wrapped up in Tony's sheets on Tony's bed, next to Tony in his underwear and stupid, adorable science shirt. 

He suddenly has the image of Peter in one of his dress shirts. The cuffs would dangle past his wrists, the ends would cover his pert little bottom and maybe he'd only do up a button or two, leave all the lovely, gorgeous skin on display.

The scrapes on Peter's skin are practically gone; barley there because of the enhanced healing and Tony just drinks in the site of him, never quite getting full. It's like the most gorgeous renaissance painting he's ever seen.

Even in sleep, Peter leans into his touch like a kitten and _yes_ Tony thinks. Peter is his little kitten. Maybe with a collar and a tail and-

He needs to keep track of his train of thought.  

But it doesn't help when Peter stretches all his limbs like some sort of octopus and ends up half strewn across Tony, his portion of the covers kicked around his ankles and pert little ass in the air, with his shirt rucked up. That's not  _fair._ He's not being given a fighting chance. His eyes have adjusted to the darkness and the warm, heavy weight of Peter on his chest and the sight of that satin-clad ass- carefully, as carefully as he can, Tony trails his hand down Peter's back, pausing before letting his fingers drag over skin. Goosebumps flare up against his where his finger touches as he continues his path, because Peter is  _oh so sensitive._ He uses his knuckles to drag up and down, getting slightly more confident when the boy just snuffles and curls further into Tony's warmth. 

But Peter's ass is calling him.

It always is, really. Would it be so bad if he...if he just let his hands drag down just a little further-a gentle squeeze? Just to feel it in his hand?

Peter makes a small sound of distress, and Tony realises the kid might be about to have another nightmare, so he moves back to kissing his temple and carding his fingers through his hair until Peter's knitted brown relaxes and he smoothes out with sleep. 

Tony sighs. He's going to need a very long, very cold shower. 

...

...

...

When he wakes up, he really does need that shower.

Because somehow in the night (nice going, subconscious) he's become the big spoon, completely curled around Peter whose back is nestled up into his chest and who is still sleeping soundly as dawn filters in. 

Tony Junior, however, is very much awake and has found a lovely spot nestled right between Peter's glorious, plump cheeks. Tony has one hand draped over Peter's waist and he so wants to slide his hand up Peter's shirt and tweak a nipple, but he doesn't. He goes very rigid and very still and wills his erection away. It doesn't want to go away, however, and Tony has always had an impulse problem and he finds his hips shifting minutely, dragging his tented erection up and down between those cheeks. 

 _Jesus_ he wants it viciously. The only thing separating them is their respective underwear and it feels so good Tony can't even imagine how the real deal might feel. He carefully removes his arm around the still slumbering boy to resist the urge to drag his hips back so he can grind against him properly, and instead fishes his dick out and pumps it. Maybe a quick orgasm now will allay some of the pressure? And why not now? When there's such a perfect, beautiful thing to look at while he does it? 

He's just decided to jerk himself off, when Peter cants his hips back suddenly and Tony's cock slips into that lovely little gap between Peter's thighs. 

 _Fuckfuckfuckfuck_ the satin against his cock, and the heat between Peter's legs is much, much better than his hand and he finds himself sliding his dick backwards and forwards- his tongue trapped between his teeth so he doesn't let out a string of swearwords that could wake the boy up. He's at full mast pretty damn quickly, and he thinks maybe he can finish like this and- he's not sure what he'll do about the mess, when Peter nudges back against him again except this time the head of Tony's dick presses against his hole. 

Tony doesn't move a muscle because he doesn't trust an inch of himself, but Peter lets out a little gasp of want, and in his sleep, pushes back more firmly; pressing his hole right onto the head of Tony's dick. Like he's just found a source of pleasure and he wants more. 

Fuck underwear.  _Fuck_ underwear. Why do people wear underwear to sleep? If they didn't, Tony's dick would be kissing Peter's hole and everything in life would be good. He stares at Peter's face, at those pink lips, moist and parted and he's panting, his face creased with pleasure and eyelids flickering. 

Tony wonders what he's dreaming about. Wonders if he's dreaming about him. Probably. Hopefully. The kid looks at him the same way Tony looks at Peter. They're made for each other. He stays still as a statue and just watches as Peter chases his pleasure, rubbing his hole against the head of Tony's dick and twisting his hips to try and get the best friction. 

Tony presses forward as much as he can, so he can feel the lovely outline of Peter's hole and Peter whispers:

"Mr Stark..."

Tony cums. He's not expecting it, but he cums full force and he lets out a little grunt. His dick is still pressed tight to Peter's hole through his satin boxer briefs and he rides it out in hot pulses of bliss before panting as he realises what a mess he's made. 

Streaks of white all down Peter's ass. 

It looks good.

Tony wants to take a picture.

He does.

With a quick glance to make sure Peter's still asleep (and he is, what a good  _good_ boy) he reaches for the tissues and does his best to wipe up the mess he's made. Peter, the sweetheart, makes it easier for him by rolling onto his stomach and snoring away, legs spread so Tony can sit between them and wipe away the white. There's still wetness, though, and Tony's not sure how to explain that away. 

Until Peter lets out a little moan, hips shifting minutely into the mattress and Tony realises with glee that Peter's little cocklet is pressed, trapped downwards against the mattress and his perfect boy is hard from having his hole played with. He leans down, till he's lying on the mattress and gently takes hold of Peter's thighs, pushing them apart. 

He's drunk with power now. This is stupid. This is reckless. If the kid wakes up and flees- Tony doesn't have a fix for it. But he's high off his orgasm and desperate for the beautiful boy before him. Peter spreads his legs wider without much guidance, and he can spread them so wide. His little spidey is so flexible. Tony can see the outline of his cock pressed against the mattress and he has to manoeuvre it a little so that he can get his mouth on it. 

It must be uncomfortable for Peter, to have his erection forced down, his ass in the air as Tony licks the head of his cock through his underwear, but c'est la vie. Peter's cock would probably taste divine, but he has to make do for now, and as soon as Tony's made the fabric wet enough, he sucks Peter's little cock and the boy is making the most delicious, high-pitched whines as he shakes and pleads to his dreams for more. His hips don't know what to do, how to chase the sensation, so Tony has to hold him fairly tight to keep him steady as he uses his tongue to rub the head of Peter's penis raw.

He gasps and twitches like a girl, and Tony can feel himself getting hard again as Peter clutches at the bedsheets and mewls so prettily. What a perfect, noisy little lover he'll have. Those choked off little gasps and sobs like he's _wrecked_  and then with a loud, blissful cry, he cums. 

Tony catches his breath and admires his handwork. Peter's underwear is a damp mess, and he can see the evidence of Peter's orgasm starting to seep through. He smirks, takes another picture, and then covers them both with the blanket and goes back to sleep. 

He wakes up to Peter quietly trying to edge out of the room. He's got his shirt pulled down as low as he can and he looks flushed red and embarrassed and shy. "You okay, kid?" Tony asks, sitting up, trying not to grin too hard at the sight of the boy. 

"Y-yeah, no worries, Mr Stark- I just really need the bathroom and I didn't wanna wake you." Peter stammers out, shifting a little from side to side. 

There's a glistening trail of slick on the inside of his thighs. Tony wants to drag him back to bed. Instead he says: "You sleep okay?"

"Mmhm." He squeaks, "t-thanks! I just- I have to go to the shower-I mean to the bathroom!" He gives a sheepish wave before disappearing around the corner. 

Tony sighs. Well, at least he has the photos. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not worry, gorgeous starkers, the next chapter will be from Peter's POV and the fight will be resolved...if you cared about the plot. 
> 
> Unlike me. I do not. I just want sweet, sweet, Starker stuff. 
> 
> hmu at tumblr, I love writing little drabbles and my ask box is open! Let me know what you wanna see next in this story! 
> 
> your comments, as always, make my day. xxxx

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go, folks: 
> 
> I am looking for prompts or scenarios you'd like me to work into following chapters!
> 
> I am fuelled by comments. The longer the comment, or the more there are, the faster updates will be. It's a motivation kick, you know? I'm not above begging. Just like Peter ;) 
> 
> See you soon, starkers.
> 
> Feel free to follow me on my sideblog where my ask box is open for some drabbles or general starker questions! 
> 
> https://starkerforlife6969.tumblr.com
> 
> (the username isn't too subtle, is it?)


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